Authors: Christopher Nuttall
“Sir,” she said. James hadn't told her why he’d asked her to report to his cabin, something that was rarely good news. “What can I do for you?”
“I want you to understand something first,” James said, silently damning himself. He had no right to keep an eye on his commanding officer, let alone involve a young and defenceless officer in his activities. “If what I am about to say makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, you are free to leave and forget about it, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
The young woman’s eyes narrowed. James winced, inwardly. Clearly, she suspected that her superior was about to make an indecent proposal. Which was true enough, James had to admit, even if it wasn't quite the proposal she thought was coming.
“The Captain, as you know, used to have a problem with drinking,” he said. “Do you think he still has a problem?”
Midshipwoman Lopez looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “I believe,” she said, after a moment, “that he has largely stopped drinking. However, I do not monitor his alcoholic intake.”
“No, you wouldn't,” James nodded. He did his best to avoid sounding threatening or disapproving. “I need you to let me know if you have good reason to believe that this has changed.”
There was a long pause. “Sir,” she said, “you seem to be expecting me to spy on the Captain.”
James didn't bother to try to deny it. That
was
precisely what he was asking. But it opened up a whole new can of worms. Captains had a right to privacy – they were the only officers onboard ship with a reasonable expectation of privacy – and he was asking a young officer to betray that. It would destroy her career far more thoroughly than anything the Captain could do to
him
.
“The Captain is under a great deal of stress,” he said, instead. “That will only get worse as the media frenzy grows stronger – and it will. I need to know if the Captain returns to his old habits. If you tell me, it won't go any further. And I'm sorry.”
“If I see such evidence, I will let you know,” Midshipwoman Lopez said, clearly biting off several words that would probably have earned her instant demotion. Not that James could really blame her for anything she called him, at least in the privacy of her own head. Her tart voice was almost painful. “May I leave?”
In a way, James realised, she’d lost her virginity. Everyone liked to think of the navy as a band of brothers ... and it was, to some extent. But there was also treachery, backstabbing and a certain amount of one-upmanship. Perhaps the war would change that, James hoped, or perhaps it would just make it worse.
He shook his head. All he could do was monitor the Captain and hope that nothing showed up that would force him to take action.
“You may,” he said. “And thank you.”
“Really?” She asked, as she turned and headed towards the hatch. “For what?”
Chapter Fourteen
Ted couldn't help feeling a little amusement at how the officers on Nelson Base reacted when he and Fitzwilliam walked through the hatch. Once, they would have either ignored him or snickered at him behind his back. What could they say to a drunkard who had somehow lucked into keeping his command, even if his command was only a starship the Royal Navy used as a dumping ground for its problem children? But now, after his victory, they fell over themselves to shake his hand. Even the Marines seemed impressed.
He rolled his eyes as the First Space Lord’s latest assistant showed him into a small compartment, where the First Space Lord and a couple of junior officers were waiting for him. One of them was wearing the unmarked uniform favoured by the Intelligence Corps, the other was wearing the too-neat uniform of a PR officer. Ted sighed, inwardly; he’d hoped to avoid Public Relations as much as possible. It might be important to keep civilian morale up, but he hated giving interviews even to friendly reporters.
“Please, be seated,” the First Space Lord said. This time, it was clear, they wouldn't be visiting the main briefing compartment. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
Ted kept his face expressionless as he sat down and rested his hands in his lap. A private discussion meant another deployment, he hoped; he couldn't help feeling that the alternatives were worse. Perhaps they wanted him to go on a speaking tour, reassuring the public that all was well with the war. But, even after he’d stopped drinking, he was hardly as photogenic as the actor who’d played Dan Dare in the 2123 remake of the classic space opera. And no one would be reassured if they saw his service record.
The First Space Lord nodded to the Intelligence Corps officer. “Commander Steenblik?”
Steenblik nodded, then tapped a switch, activating the holographic processor. Ted studied him with some interest. Like most Intelligence Corps officers, there was a blandness about him that would have left him almost unnoticed, at least when compared to line officers. And yet he knew better than to underestimate the sandy-haired young man. The Intelligence Corps recruited only the smartest of officers, men and women willing to work behind the scenes to ensure that the Royal Navy got the intelligence it needed, when it needed it. They’d failed to predict the arrival of the aliens, admittedly, but no one else had done any better.
Unless the conspiracy theories are actually true
, Ted thought, as he looked up at the display.
If someone did know, that might explain our military build-up ...
“The face of the enemy,” Commander Steenblik said, as an alien face appeared in front of them. “This is the most intact body we have, although it is quite badly damaged in several places. By comparing this body with the others, we have been able to put together a comprehensive picture of what the aliens actually
look
like. However, we still have plenty of unanswered questions about their biology, let alone their society.”
He smiled, rather humourlessly. “Despite being humanoid, they are completely unrelated to humanity,” he continued. “Although we believe that they and we can share the same worlds, the food we found in their stomachs – they have two separate stomachs – would be poisonous to us. We don’t think they can eat our foodstuffs. Their diseases will probably not affect us and vice-versa.”
“So no hope of any human-alien hybrids to end the war,” Fitzwilliam said, dryly. He nodded towards the holographic alien. “What sex is it?”
“Male, we think,” Steenblik said. “We’ve identified organs that seem to serve the role of testes, but the penis seems to be completely retractable ... in truth, it will be several months before we can say anything with confidence. All the remaining bodies seem to share the same sexual characteristics, so we are assuming that they’re all male. However, I must caution you that we could be completely wrong. We have very little experience with alien biology.”
“Assuming you're right,” Ted said, “what does this say about them?”
“Nothing for certain,” Steenblik warned. “They may be as sexually restrictive as some of our darker societies or we may simply have failed to recover any female bodies. Statistically, two-thirds of the Royal Navy is composed of men, while certain units are male-only – the Marines, for example. We simply don't know enough to be able to say anything about their society from what little we pulled from the bodies.
“One thing we are fairly sure about is that they need water more than we do,” he continued, rotating the image so they could see the leathery skin. “This might explain the high concentration of water droplets in the wreckage; the aliens need a moist atmosphere to survive. Their eyesight may be better than ours, their bodies slightly weaker ... although, again, we have no way to be sure. The alien bodies we recovered may well be atypical.”
Ted nodded, studying the alien. It was ugly as sin, he decided, although the aliens probably felt the same way about humanity. Was that the cause of the war? Had the aliens looked at humanity and decided that they were too ugly to live? Or maybe just that humans were inherently inferior and needed to be knocked down and out before they posed a threat to the alien civilisation?
Or maybe they’re just nasty bastards
, he thought. But there was no way to know.
Fitzwilliam coughed. “Can they speak to us?”
“I think they would have real problems speaking English understandably, given the shape of their mouths,” Steenblik admitted. “But they would probably have no difficulty constructing a voder that would allow them to speak to us. We’re currently working on producing something similar, although – as we have no samples of the alien language – it’s all mainly guesswork.”
“There was an attempt to use the First Contact package at New Russia,” the First Space Lord said. “The aliens didn't respond.”
Ted frowned. The First Contact package had been dreamed up in the days when humanity expected to discover a new intelligent race at every new star. It was, in theory, simple to understand, at least for a race that understood enough scientific laws to make it into space. By law, every starship carried a copy, just in case they encountered an alien starship, but it had never really been tested. No one knew just how well it would work when aliens were encountered for the first time.
Not well
, he decided. For all he knew, the aliens had interpreted the package as a challenge to do battle.
Or maybe they just couldn't understand what they were hearing
.
“We have also learned a great deal about alien technology from the battle,” Steenblik said, tapping a switch. The image of the alien vanished. “Their stealth systems, as we believed, are incredibly power-intensive, to the point that the aliens seem unable to use them and fire at the same time. They may also be unable to switch them on and off at will, which is fortunate. If they could, we would be in real trouble.”
Ted snorted. “You mean we’re not now?”
“Worse trouble, then,” Steenblik amended. “It’s possible – although we don’t know for sure – that their stealth systems actually impede their sensors and drives. We’ve been looking closely at the records of the battle and it’s clear that the aliens were slightly out of place when they dropped their stealth and attacked. They may well be unable to see where they’re going while under stealth. We also picked up faint hints that their drives
are
detectable at very close range; we’re currently programming drones to provide targeting, allowing the alien fighters to be wiped out before they can drop their stealth systems and attack.”
“That would be useful,” Ted agreed. He leaned forward. “Is there anything unusual about the alien hulls?”
“Their composites are not much different from our own,” Steenblik admitted. “There are some unusual points – the aliens seem to have turned their outer hulls into giant superconductors – but that would be well within our capabilities, if we had the need to duplicate it. We’re not sure why ...”
“I bet I know,” Fitzwilliam said. “It’s part of their point defence system.”
Ted grimaced, remembering watching as his starfighters were blown out of space, their missiles picked off before they could reach their targets. Casualties had been high, even though the human starfighter pilots had been ready for the aliens this time. The only consolation was that there was no shortage of replacements.
Ark Royal
had moved from a dumping ground to a prime opportunity for glory and promotion. Assuming, of course, that the newcomers survived the war.
“That’s one theory,” Steenblik agreed. “However, we don't know for sure. Another possibility is that it’s related to their FTL drive; so far, we don’t even have a theory for how they’re able to use tramlines we cannot even begin to access.”
He shrugged. “A full report has been uploaded to the secure datanet ...”
“And shared with our allies,” the First Space Lord said. “It was decided at the very highest levels” – he nodded towards a picture of the Prime Minister – “that our intelligence was best shared with the remainder of humanity.”
Ted lifted his eyebrows, surprised. He didn't disagree with the logic – like it or not, the whole human race had to remain united – but he was impressed that the decision had been taken so quickly. But then, there wasn't anything in their findings that would allow the Americans or the Chinese to reverse-engineer any alien tech ahead of Britain. The hell of it was that the human race
needed
someone to do just that.
The First Space Lord pressed his fingertips together as he sat back in his chair. Ted sucked in a breath, knowing that this was it. His superior was about to explain precisely why they’d been called to Nelson Base.
“So far, the aliens have made no further attempt at outflanking the defences,” the First Space Lord said. “They certainly have not attempted to attack Earth. However, we fear that this is just a matter of time.
Ark Royal
might be tricky to duplicate within a year, but we can improve our defences, start producing vast numbers of mass drivers and take other steps to make Earth less vulnerable. And we got very lucky when
Ark Royal
was in place to intercept the aliens.”
Ted couldn't disagree. The First Space Lord had gambled and won, but the aliens would be more careful next time. And they would probably start working on their own countermeasures against
Ark Royal
and her non-existent sisters. Even if they couldn't build nukes for themselves, which he strongly doubted, they could certainly recover them from New Russia. Unless the Russians
had
managed to fire off all their weapons before the aliens landed ...